Death Closes All
by HuntressDiana
Summary: A ficlet from a Challenge. Roger's second plan to take over Tortall may not have worked, but before he dies, he has one thing left to do take revenge on Alanna.
1. Disclaimer

**Death closes all.**

**By HuntressDiana**

_**Disclaimer; **None of the characters in this belong to me, they are property of Tamora Pierce and I am making no profit from this._

_The verses are from 'Ulysses' by Alfred, Lord Tennyson and in no way belong to me._

_**Author's note;** I'm slowly working through my fics and editing them, there are no major changes to this, but a few minor things have been altered._


	2. Death Closes All

* * *

'**_Death closes all: but ere the end,_**

_**Some work of noble note may yet be done,**_

_**Not unbecoming men that strove with the Gods'**_

_Ulysses_

_by Alfred, Lord Tennyson_

* * *

I am bested again, by that whelp of a 'lady knight'. But I have not lost all hope, although sorcerer's sleep is now beyond me, I may be able to gather enough magic through my fading link to Thom of Trebond. As long as there is warmth in his body I can possess it. Blood still lies in his veins, and breath in his lungs, and I drag my spirit away from my own body lying there, my finest work of art embedded in my chest. 

This is my last hope, and my last chance at return, once I sever these ties to my body, I can never return to it, not even my art can do that. But I pull away, and though the journey is painful, I fit myself into Thom's body. It will have a delicious sense of irony that herbrother, or at least his body, will be the one to finally allow me to kill her.

I feel cramped, as though I am wearing clothing too small. I laugh aloud at that, I suppose I am. Thom's body is so much smaller that my own, not only by nature, but from the sickness I laid upon him as well. He was stick thin and his skin had the texture of paper, ready to tear at any moment.

I am weary now, not only from my exertions of binding myself to this body, but also from battling that false knight in the cellars, and forming the gate. With a curse I realise that the tremors have stopped. My body has died, and so the spell, bound to my blood, has collapsed, I cannot bring through the demons I had planned to. But I may be able to best them yet.

Although she is chosen by the Goddess, she could not see my true aim, I no longer care for the land of my birth, and I do not desire domination over it. For a long time I have been aiming higher than that. I can strive with the gods and triumph over them too! For I have more power than any other mortal alive, or dead. I chuckle at my own humour.

Now I have the Trebond Gift, as well as the Conté Gift, and I can use that against the Gods.

I do not want to rule over them either, or to become one of them, I only seek to destroy them and so the whole world. I care not if I die, as long as, like the kings of old, I take people with me.

I raise Thom's body from the floor and step over the dead familiar, the fool Si-cham who actually thought he could stop me, and the Princess Josiane who craved revenge on _her_.

I will achieve that revenge, but not for her cause, but for my own quest. I only wish to see _her_ dead, by any means possible. At first her death was only a means to an end, but now… revenge fills my thoughts, she has thwarted my plans too many times.

_She_ is unconscious in the cellars, so that must be my destination. Besides, the Gate is there as well, and it can be formed into a portal, with the appropriate blood sacrifice. How joyful for me that her death shall also bring about the death of her beloved country.

So I stagger through the doorway, looking and feeling drunk, trying to coordinate Thom's wretched body and get down to the cellars before my magic wears itself out. I can feel it, flickering like a flame, ebbing slowly, but in increasing amounts. I break into a run, and am not questioned as I lurch through the smaller halls, some piled high with the dead. I am laughing inside with glee. Even if I cannot achieve my aim, Tortall will always remember me as the Greatest Sorcerer, who cheated death twice, and brought the Hooded God Death to his enemies.

To my disgust, I see Jonathan, my cousin is still alive, he is by the altar, on which lies the body of another red headed man. I recognise him by the insignia on his shirt, this is Liam Ironarm, the Shang Dragon, and one of her many lovers; whore that she is!

But I ignore that and find the stairwell; recklessly I throw myself over debris and bodies.

Feeling myself weaken, I stop in a small antechamber, gathering my strength for this last attempt. Then I see a mail clad body, and approach it, fearing it to be her, dead already. But it isn't. It is my faithful Alex, who was the only one to know my true plans and to pledge his full allegiance to my cause. He is dead. Killed by a dirty Shang trick. I see his nose is broken, and as he has no other wound upon him the manner of his death is easy to discern.

I walk over him. He was a useful pawn in life, but now, in death, he means as little to me as the other bodies littering the palace.

There! The gate is before me! I lunge towards it and cross the boundary. A strange feeling comes over me, as I cross to where she lies, disregarding my own body. Then I see my foolish mistake. My foot, Thom's foot, has touched one of the lines. The Gate does what I commanded it to, so long ago, responding both to my Gift, and the foreign one, sucking Thom's away.

I collapse to my knees, struggling to crawl from the circle. She lies just a few feet away. If I can drag her into here, and kill her, all will not be in vain.

But even as I think this, I know it is futile, Thom's Gift is all but gone, and my strength wanes. I fall onto my face, Thom's face, only a couple of inches away from her limp body.

With my last breath I curse her, with my last thought I hate her and with my last heart beat, death closes my eyes.

* * *

'**_Death closes all: but ere the end,_**

_**Some work of noble note may yet be done,**_

**_Not unbecoming men that strove with the Gods.'_**

* * *


End file.
